


Angel With a Shotgun

by giraffecentaurs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angel!Aziraphale, But like in flashbacks you see, Disabled!Crowley, I feel like Angel!Aziraphale is kinda a redundant tag but like idk maybe it'll help, M/M, Songfic, basically I'm just gonna go off my fucking shits for this one I don't care anymore, more tags added later when I can be sure that I'll follow through on what they promise, the rating is more for adult themes I'm sorry to say I'm not really a smut guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-26 23:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffecentaurs/pseuds/giraffecentaurs
Summary: Crowley had always thought of Aziraphale as his gaurdian angel.Little did he know.Alternatively: you've heard of human!Aziraphale demon!Crowley au, now get ready for human!Crowley angel!Aziraphale au





	1. Get Out Your Guns, Battle's Begun

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why my solution to writers block is to start new projects but alas tis what tis.   
Anyways Angel With a Shotgun by The Cab (for those of you who didn't have the distinct pleasure of having their emo phase in 2012 like I did) has been stuck in my head on repeat ever since I even HEARD about good omens so here's an incredibly self indulgent Songfic.

Crowley enjoyed the extended company of very few individuals in this world. 

Coming from a rather cramped household, he found that he had developed rather introverted tendencies. At any rate, his partying days were certainly behind him; now nothing sounded more positively dreadful and particularly loathsome on a Friday night than being in the presence of other human beings. In addition to his former home life, perhaps this was in some part also due to his many previous occupations. Working as everything from a hired gun to a live in nanny, he had dealt with all kinds of interesting individuals and he had, quite frankly, had his fill of it. These days, he worked from home as an online seller of floral arrangements and various artworks (often combined together, as he offered a discount on vases to anyone who bought flowers and vice versa), so he really had very limited contact with people anymore, anyways.

Well, except, of course, for Aziraphale.

They had known each other since high school; he was the one part of it that Crowley never wanted to forget. Every memory worth keeping had Aziraphale in it, and every memory with Aziraphale in it was worth keeping. Even the fights, even the heartaches, even… well, even all of the bad stuff. It was important to him.

No, Crowley did not like spending time with people anymore. He'd much rather be curled up on his couch watching corny TV with a bottle of wine and a bag of popcorn. But Aziraphale was his exception. He'd damn himself forever if he ever again in his life went a full week without seeing him.

By now, the bookshop Aziraphale ran was quite certainly, definitely closed. Crowley knew him well enough to know that there was no way he wasn't still down in the shop reading, though, so he went ahead and knocked instead of going through the effort to call. There was an annoyed sigh barely audible from behind the door. 

"Sorry! I'm afraid we're quite—"

"It's me."

The door swung open immediately, Crowley being dragged inside by the collar of his shirt before it was closed with the same amount of haste. Aziraphale looked… well, to be honest, he looked fuckin' awful. Not in any way that would be discernible to anyone that didn't know him, but Crowley (who, as a matter of fact, knew him very well) could tell right away that something had been plaguing his friend's mind. He made a guttural sound while trying to think up the appropriate way to address this whilst Aziraphale frantically locked the door behind them.

"So, like… what's up?" Great one Crowley. Way to be both specific and sensitive, jackarse. 

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, everything's peachy. Tickety-boo, really—"

"You only ever say that when things are decidedly _ not _ tickety-boo."

Aziraphale sighed dramatically. They were peas in a pod when it came to theatrics. "Oh, you're positively right, old chap! I _ do, _ don't I?"

"What's wrong? Did you have a rough day at the shop or something? Did a seller back out on you?" 

"No it's not— it's. Well." Aziraphale chewed on his lip. "I. We need to talk. I'm going to go make some tea." And with that, Aziraphale swiftly went up to the flat above his shop. Crowley made himself at home, as he had well known he was allowed to do by now, and went to the back room where they often had these late night excursions. 

Only tonight, instead of being greeted by the garish, wine-stained rug that he had grown fond of over these past few years, he found a large sigil decorating the floor in its place. 

Debating on whether or not he should say something about… that… he was suddenly no longer alone in the room. 

"DON'T STEP ON THAT!!" He was once again manhandled by Aziraphale as he was tugged from the area (with a surprising amount of force, given that the man had only been using one hand.) Before he knew it, he was being dragged upstairs and plopped down on the small couch in Aziraphale's flat. 

Finally, his mind had caught up to the scenario.

"What in the Heavens is going on?!"

"Could we please drink some tea before I answer that? I'd like for us to both have a moment of calm first."

Crowley humored that request. They sipped in unison. Aziraphale let out a sight of refreshment before dabbing his face with a napkin.

"Alright. Great. Thank you. Well. I'm an angel, and the apocalypse starts on Wednesday."

Crowley choked on tea he thought he finished drinking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I've been going back and forth on if I like this or not, so feedback would be appreciated! (Though I imagine it may be easier to give once more of it is published lol.) I'm gonna keep working on my other fics too, don't worry, but I mostly started this one just to keep the cogs turning on something that's not My Baby That I Don't Wanna Ruin™. I hope you all have a lovely day and feel inclined to stay tuned!


	2. Are You a Saint or a Sinner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I've seen a few stories do this thing where every other chapter is a flashback, and I felt like that format lent itself well to this. This chapter takes place in the late 1980s. Hope you enjoy! Some internalized ableism, homophobia (very brief), and discrimination against sex workers (idk if that has a more consise name) in this one so if those things hit close to home then be warned!

Nearly thirty years ago, Crowley had lived with Aziraphale for a brief period of time. 

They decided after highschool to split the cost of a small flat while they got their bearings, as they were both determined to get away from their parents as soon as humanly possible. Neither had a particularly stellar relationship with their families, and would've much preferred each other's company than the company of anyone with whom they shared their genetics. 

Crowley had struggled for this entire period of their lives to keep up with his half of the rent. He had been a full time student, which took up a vast amount of his energy reserves for the day (or, as the hip disabled kids say these days, 'spoons'), making it difficult to hold down any kind of job. 

It made him feel like shit.

Aziraphale was such a good roommate. Such a good person, really. Such a good _ friend. _ He never seemed upset when Crowley had come up short on the rent or hadn't done his half of the chores, he never ate any leftovers that weren't his even though Crowley said he could, he never asked any questions. Really, the only downside to living with the man was that he was a rather messy individual, and even still he always kept it contained within his own room. 

Oh. 

And that it was becoming increasingly difficult to live in such close proximity to the man you'd been madly in love with for years and not make some kind of move and ruin it all. 

But like, that's not important or anything.

Aziraphale reassured him time and time again that it was alright, but he couldn't ever shake that guilt. It wasn't just that he knew he was letting someone he cared about down; it felt like he had let _ himself _down.

It lead him to some very low places that resulted in some very poor decision making.

His most recent endeavor had been working at totally completely legal underground club that was called, rather appropriately, the Hell Hole. At least, he's pretty sure that's what it was called. That's what everybody who went there called it, at any rate. But, it was the only place willing to give him the flexible schedule he needed.

Plus, stripping paid a lot better than he thought it would going in.

It was all in all a decent gig and definitely, certainly legal in a very legal definitely not illegal really truly legal don't worry about it establishment. He had always had a flare for the dramatic, anyhow, it was just another kind of performance. The fact that it was some sort of act was, coincidentally enough, all Aziraphale had known about Crowley's source of income at the moment. He had been slowly testing the waters to see if he'd be cool with it, but considering he occasionally spotted Aziraphale just casually reading the Bible (which Crowley was certain only deeply devout people did), he figured it was probably best left unspecified. To be completely fair, the two rarely talked about work and opted for much more engaging subjects, anyway. Really, he didn't even think he knew what Aziraphale did for a living. Or did in general, considering he didn't seem to be going to school either. Yes, it was a pretty good gig for awhile. Until the moment when it stopped being one.

Remember the previously mentioned poor decisions? Yeah. Well. Can't change the past, can you?

"Oi!" Beelzebub yelled (okay, okay, that's not their real name, but he liked to imagine it was). "You've been requested for a private show. Room three."

He rolled his eyes, snuffed out his cig, and went to the designated room. At least private shows meant good tips. The man in the room looked positively vile in more ways than one. The vilest of which being that he looked remarkably like—

"Keep your clothes on, I'm here to talk." Lucifer.

(That wasn't his real name either.) (Crowley always did love nicknames.)

"Talking's gonna cost you extra, m'afraid."

"Always had too much confidence for your own good. Suppose that does you well in this career path."

"If you're here to try and get me to buy any of your shitty, second-rate drugs, you're out of luck."

"I've grown passed dealing since we last met, Crowley. Which is why I'm here to talk to you."

"To gloat?"

"No, to offer you a job."

"Why in the _ nine circles of Hell _ would I _ ever _ take a job from _ you?" _

"Because currently you're stripping at a shithole that's gonna get busted by the cops any day now, when you could be making tenfold while working far less often with _guaranteed_ protection."

Crowley's eyes widened. "What… what kind of _ job _ is this…" 

"I think you know what kind, Crowley."

"And what makes you think I would do it? Or that I even _ could _ do it?"

"You've always hated authority, not to mention you were a sharp shot back in the day. And it's clear to me that you're desperate, considering how far you've fallen form grace; trust me, this place isn't gonna be here for much longer." 

"B—"

"C'mon, you'll have them eating out of the palm of your hand in no time, anyways. You already have the skillset to make it work, and you can back out anytime you want. You and I both already know how dangerous it is out there for us, and it's only a matter of time before they track down you and your pet puff like I did. I'm not lying to you when I say that you _need_ this job."

Looking back on it now, he didn't really know how much he believed any of that. 

He only thought about Aziraphale briefly. Thought about how much he'd hate him for what he was about to do. Thought about how much he probably would hate him if he found out what he was doing now anyway. He just wanted to repay him, somehow, but he kept on fucking it up. 

"Alright, fine. I'll do it, but I'm not signing shit."

Lucifer gave a nasty grin. "Perfect." He handed him a folder. "Here's your first hit. Oh," he reached into his pocket and threw out a wad of money at him. "Your tip."

Predictably, when Aziraphale found out, he was less than thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you thought and I hope you have a terrific day!!


End file.
